She forced herself to appear cool, professional, stoic as they reached the police station and passed through the outer areas, where petty offenders were being booked. San Antonio was not without its share of prostitutes and thieves, and a number of them were being interviewed, along with traffic offenders and others brought in by the police for their various misdeeds. But Jackson Crow barely noticed them. With a brief word to the desk sergeant, he led her and Logan through a hallway to a large room enclosed by smoked glass. Within that room were several desks, a free-standing, forty-inch computer screen, a small lab area, a board with marker notes and a private snack station with a large coffeepot and a small refrigerator and microwave oven. It was almost its own little fortress.
This could be her place. For now at least.
A man sat at one of the desks, but rose when they all entered. He was tall and striking in a lanky, easy way, and was quick to shake their hands when Jackson introduced him as Jake Mallory. On Jackson’s own team, he was adept with cameras, recorders and, he admitted dryly, a guitar.
“Only one member of your team’s here,” Logan pointed out.
“I told you,” Jackson Crow said. “We’re stretched too thin. There’s been a murder at an old hotel in D.C. Some of my people are there.”
Logan Raintree merely nodded.
“So what do you have?” Kelsey asked Jake Mallory.
“You’ve given them the information about Chelsea Martin and Tara Grissom?” Jake asked Crow.
Again, Crow nodded. Jake sat at his computer and hit a key. The large screen against the far wall came to life. “That’s Chelsea Martin on the left, Tara Grissom on the right,” he said. “Both photos were taken a few months before they disappeared.”
No matter how long a person worked in law enforcement, Kelsey thought, it was heartbreaking to see the image of a young woman in life—and to know how that life had ended. Chelsea Martin had huge blue eyes and dark brown hair. Tara Grissom was a blonde, with green eyes. Chelsea’s face had been round, while Tara’s was slim with high cheekbones. Chelsea peered out at them, smiling. The close-up had been cropped, and it looked as if her face had been taken from a picture with kids in it. She’d presumably had her arms around some of them. They must’ve been children she’d taught. Tara’s picture had probably been a publicity photo, because it had a neutral background and she smiled at them from a posed angle.
“These are the young women we know, and they’re at the morgue, along with six we have yet to identify,” Jake said. “The killer isn’t going for a particular look, or not that we can pin down from these two, at any rate. One’s a brunette, the other a blonde. One was plump, and one was lean. And although we haven’t identified the other remains, there’s hair on most of them, or remnants of hair, and the colors vary.” He cleared his throat. “I was listening to Chelsea’s last phone conversation when you arrived.”
“Her phone conversation? How was it recorded?” Logan asked. “If her friend answered the phone, there wouldn’t be a recording.”
“Apparently, she answered right when the recording began. We got lucky. Nancy McCall had an old-fashioned answering machine,” Jake said. “It’s strange—I’ve been isolating sounds on the tape, but…well, you want to listen to the original recording first?”
Crow nodded.
“This is the conversation,” Jake said, hitting another key.
Chelsea Martin, with her wide cheeks and big eyes, smiled at them from the screen as they listened. “Nancy! Hey!” said her voice, sweet and excited.
“You were supposed to call me when you landed,” came the reply.
“I’m sorry. I went straight to the Alamo, which is crazy, ’cause I’m dragging around a bag and all. But I had to come here! I’ve read so much about it, so many stories about the siege and the battle and the people who were here…oh! Too funny! There’s a man in costume. I’ve been flirting with him. He’s pretty cute, too!”
Before her friend could respond, another voice broke in. It was deep and husky, and had a rattling sound, almost as if someone were speaking through a mouthful of dust.
“Come away, come away, now. You’re in danger!”
They heard Chelsea giggle. “The battle’s over,” she said.
“You’re in danger,” the rattling voice said again, “Please, listen to me.”
That voice. Kelsey had been in dire situations several times, but she couldn’t remember when any sound had caused such a chill to suddenly sweep through her.
“Nancy, I think a ghost is playing with me,” Chelsea said, and she laughed again.
“Chelsea, what’s going on?” her friend asked.
“I—”
And that was it. Silence. For a moment, those in the room were silent, as well.
“And just how do you figure the third voice got on the phone?” Logan Raintree asked. His voice was hard and cold. “For it to be that clear, he had to have his mouth right next to the phone. What did the friend say when you questioned her about it?”
“I called Nancy McCall earlier this afternoon,” Jake said. “She didn’t hear the other voice when she spoke to Chelsea, and she has no idea how it can be so clear on the recording—or even how it managed to record at all. I told you, I’ve been isolating sounds, but I can’t separate this voice from Chelsea’s when I try to bring them onto different frequencies. I just played you the original. I can isolate Chelsea’s voice, and you’ll hear that it’s still in there.”
He played the recording again.
Afterward, Jackson walked over to Jake’s desk, which held a pile of folders. He picked up two of them. “Take these,” he said, handing one to Logan and one to Kelsey. “They have all the information we’ve got on Chelsea and Tara, and the times and dates the six unidentified bodies were discovered. Please take a look at the folders. If you decide to join the team, I’d like you to come to the morgue with me tomorrow.”
“Have those bodies been there all this time?” Logan asked.
“No. We’ve exhumed them,” Jackson told him. “They were buried by the city as unknowns.”
Logan shook his head, eyes narrowed. His expression was impassive, and yet Kelsey felt that some kind of emotion was seething inside him. “Why now?” he asked. If he exploded, he’d be frightening.
Yet she was equally certain that he never just exploded. He controlled himself at all times.
“It’s in the folder,” Jackson said.
Next, Jake passed out pages he’d obviously printed for them. “I was looking up information on another case when I found out that a young woman, Vanessa Johnston, has recently disappeared—on her way here,” he told them. “Right now, she’s a missing person. She was driving in. Neither she nor her Honda has been seen since she stopped at a gas station near the county line. I brought the problem to Jackson’s attention. Everything’s on those sheets I gave you.”
Kelsey slipped hers inside the folder.
“I spoke with your captain about this case, Raintree,” Jackson was saying. “And he invited us in.”
Kelsey watched as Logan Raintree nodded curtly and headed toward the door.
He paused and turned to face them. “What time are we going to the morgue?” he asked.
“9:00 a.m.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
He left the room.
“I’d like to hear the recording again, please,” Kelsey said.
She found a chair